The Good Life
by IFeltHope44
Summary: Maybe they had gone just a bit overboard during that practice battle. Maybe she'd be able to enjoy the perfect night if it wasn't for their spar. Maybe he wouldn't be covered in bruises if it wasn't for their fight. Zutara fluff.


**Oh, gosh. It's been an entire month since I last posted someting? Oy. **

**I own nothing! Zuko, Katara, and anything else recognizable belong to Mike/Bryan!**

**Enjoy!**

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The night was absolutely perfect. The pristine silver-white sand caught the waxing moon's bright light, each grain of minute rock a parallel to the star-freckled sky. The towel that Katara had flopped over the sand was just out of reach of the high tide's greedy fingers and the cool evening breeze rippled across the ocean's surface in gentle surges.

Too bad her neck was too sore and her back was too stiff to really enjoy it.

With a small bottle of a sweet-smelling, sparkling drink in one hand and her towel in the other, she had shuffled down to the shore to relax-maybe the salty brine of the waves would help to loosen up her terrible tense muscles or at least help clear her mind. She now laid on her stomach, her arms curled up by her head and one cheek pressed comfortably into the plush towel beneath her. Her pale ivory bindings exposed the majority of her tanned skin to the night and gooseflesh shot over her arms at regular intervals. She watched the sky on an angle and occasionally took a leisurely sip of her drink from one of the tin cups they had used at dinner.

"Hey."

So much for loosening up any part of her.

"Hey," she responded in turn, watching out of the corner of her eye as Zuko sat next to her, blotting out part of her sky and groaning faintly as he did so. He gave one more stifled grunt as he settled close to her-so _close _to her, with his thigh pressed flush against her side.

"That was one hell of a battle," he said eventually. "I can't remember the last time a fight made me so sore. I can barely feel my legs."

"Tell me about it," Katara muttered.

They weren't too sure how exactly it happened the way it did. It started with a flimsy, that-couldn't-have-possibly-have-hurt water whip to Zuko's back, and then a few ill-formed fire balls followed.

After that, they could only remember their practice battle in sporadic snippets: full tidal waves of water that unexpectedly transformed into sharp spears of ice; ropes of hungry fire that licked heat across her skin; close-combat fighting with deadly choreography; locking hands around each other's upper arms, trying to force the opposite down until both of them ended up in a heap of limbs and steam and dirt.

Katara had managed to heal her physical wounds quickly-the burn across her left shin, the extensive cut on the back of her hand, the multitude of scrapes and bruises all over her body-but the soreness still remained stubbornly lodged in her muscles. Zuko, without the luxury of being able to heal himself, still had at least a dozen shallow gashes spattered across his back and shoulders from the stilettos of ice that he hadn't been able to dodge and the scarlet shape of Katara's mouth perfectly embossed on his wrist from where she bit him, along with purple-black bruises and raw scratches that matched Katara's.

She took a small sip of her drink, and Zuko reached over her to grab the mostly-full bottle, putting his lips to its neck and tilting the liquid forward. His nose scrunched as it slid down his throat. "This is chick wine. Hardly any alcohol," he informed her.

"I didn't ask you to drink it," she retorted quickly, setting her cup down. "Now help me up so I can heal your back."

Zuko clucked his tongue and pressed one hand to the nape of her neck as she tried to get up. Her ocean-kissed skin was cool against his warm palm, and she shivered at the heat. "Nope," he told her. "Just you." His fingertips skimmed over her back, trailing over her shoulders and bindings, tracing over her spine and hovering over the hollow of the small of her back. She shivered again, but for a different reason.

He chuckled under his breath and returned his hand to her shoulders, warming his fingertips comfortably and pressing the heel of his palm to her tense skin. She let out a contented sigh while her personal masseuse smoothed out the pain from their furious sparring match. Every now and then, his fingers traveled across her body, drawing lines over her thighs or wandering up her arm to caress her hand or brushing back to hair to skim his knuckles over her cheek.

"I could get used to this," Katara murmured drowsily, completely lax as the intensified heat of his palms melted away the tension in her neck and back. "Thanks."

"Mmhmm," he mumbled, he face drawn peacefully as he watched the tide chase itself up and down the damp sand, cracking a small smile when a wonderfully low sound escaped her and reverberated through her body.

When the moon had moved considerably across the sky, Katara rolled over slowly and propped herself up on her elbows. She allowed him to trace over her collar bone, watching in amusement as his angular face flushed deep red at the more intimate contact. One hand tangled into his hair; using her new handhold to tug him down, she kissed him soundlessly, innocently. She broke away before he could part her lips with his and pushed herself forward, rocking up on her knees. Against the hollow of his throat, she whispered tenderly, "Your turn."

_~Fin~_

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**Written a while ago for my good friend Mary (kiss-me-i-am-irish07 on deviantART) for her birthday.**

**Review, please?**  
**Tchao, Zutarians.**  
**Erika**  
**xoxo**


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